


Devils and Virgins

by 50251sid



Category: The Borgias
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Character Study, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 07:32:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/50251sid/pseuds/50251sid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micheletto intervenes against Juan's despicable act.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devils and Virgins

**Author's Note:**

> I found myself wondering what became of the unfortunate dancer who incurred Juan's wrath at Giovanni's baptismal celebration. Left alone in the garden at Micheletto's mercy, what might have happened to her? This is my take on the tale.

_I do what I do because I do it._

_I don't ask why._

 

 

 

Micheletto could tell by the vicious glower on Juan’s face that he would be up to no good.

In spite of the joyous occasion of Giovanni’s baptism, Juan had quarreled first with his mother, then with Cesare and finally with Lucrezia.  In constant pain from the wound to his leg and the effects of the French pox, Juan was malevolent to begin with.  The arguments had only made his bad humor worse.

Knowing that Lucrezia and Giovanni were safe under Cesare’s protection, Micheletto quietly followed Juan out to the garden to keep close watch on him.

 

Such a delightful sight!  Four fetching, very young damsels in filmy draperies were holding hands, singing and capering in a circle near the splashing fountain.  Juan recognized them as being performers from the “Angels and Virgins” dance which Lucrezia had commissioned as a gift to Father.  So ethereally lovely were they in their movements that even the lecherous Rodrigo had viewed them with enchantment rather than lust.  Only Juan seemed to recognize them for the florid flesh and blood creatures that they actually were.  Or was it just that his vulgar sensibilities rendered him incapable of transcending the bonds of earth into the realm of the divine?

Even so, he smiled at their charming frolicking until he became aware of what they were chanting.

“Ten more, ten more, ten more sons…”

His smile froze. 

How many more times must he have the taunt of that Sforza bitch thrown into his face?  Had it become so notorious that he must hear it even from little girls in his mother’s garden? 

He started forward, and the thump of his walking stick disconcerted the girls, causing them to abruptly break off their dance.  Their eyes widened in fear as they recognized the condottiero. 

“Sorry, my lord,” they muttered and sought to run away, but they had to pass by Juan to do so.  The fuming Duke of Gandia raised his walking stick and blocked the exit of the last girl, a pretty maid of perhaps fourteen with lush black curls and wide brown eyes. 

“Please, my lord.  I meant no insult,” she stammered, beginning to cry. 

“I’ll give you sons,’ Juan growled, pushing her against the garden wall and yanking at her skirts.

 

Micheletto had seen enough.  He stepped out of the shadows.

 

Juan had lifted the girl off the ground and pressed her back against the wall for support.  His hand went tightly around her throat as he thrust himself into her savagely.  Her despairing sobs told Micheletto that her breathing had not been entirely choked off, but he moved quickly anyway, catching Juan by the neck and shoulders and yanking him back but not entirely off of the girl. 

“How dare you,” Juan spat.  “Take your hands off me.”

“You’re doing it wrong, my lord.  You’ve only to press your thumb _here_ ” (he illustrated on the terrified girl’s throat) “and she’ll be dead in an instant.” 

“I don’t want her dead, you idiot.  At least not yet.  Now leave, before I have you whipped.”

“This isn’t worthy of you, my lord.  Surely you can find better sport than scared little girls.” Micheletto gave Juan a hard pull and separated him from the dancer, who collapsed to the ground.

“Go along now, my lord Borgia.  Leave this to me to clean up.”

Muttering threats and curses, Juan lurched back towards the villa.

Micheletto turned his attention to the young girl, cowering on the ground at his feet.  He held out his hand to her.  She looked up at him with huge brown eyes that recalled to him the eyes of a felled doe whose throat he had slit. 

She placed her trembling hand in his.  He pulled her to her feet and caught her by the waist as her knees failed her.  He handed her his handkerchief. 

“It’s all right, girl.  Stop crying.  You’re safe now.  Come with me.  I’ll see you home.”

 

Having escorted the dancer to the door of her house, Micheletto turned and made his way back to the Vatican where Cesare would want his report on the incident. 

Micheletto had heard from a doctor who had made a study of the Pox that after a certain time, it seemed to be no longer contagious.  The girl would probably be all right. 

She would certainly be no further trouble.  If she were to complain, who would give credence to a nobody’s accusations against a son of the Pope?  Even if there had been repercussions to fear, Micheletto would have been only too pleased to allow Juan to be caught up in the twists of his own reprehensible behavior.

But what if it had been Cesare who had done it?  Pointless question.  Cesare’s desire for domination did not extend to helpless little girls.  _But what if it had?_

Micheletto shrugged.  He dealt death with efficiency, but not with particular enjoyment.  Had it been to protect Cesare, he would have dispatched the girl with the same sentiment he had felt when he killed the doe: regretful at destroying something of beauty but dispassionate in the need for it. 

Enough.  It would not do for Cesare Borgia’s assassin to become introspective.


End file.
